


Please Have Snow, And Mistletoe

by sapphire_child



Series: Season 12 Bits [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beer, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas in the Bunker, Dancing, Fluff, Gen, Mistletoe, Season/Series 12, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because chances are we won't be getting this from the actual show, have some super fluffy slightly bittersweet Christmas funtimes in the bunker, so sod it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: In a not entirely surprising turn of events, none of them are particularly great at Christmas prep.
Mary can't cook, Dean is quietly panicking about turkey logistics, Sam and Cas nearly died getting the Christmas tree downstairs but dangit, they're gonna do Christmas at the bunker this year if it kills them. Shameless fluffy sweetness with a minuscule side of bittersweet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who celebrate it - I wish you a very Merry Christmas! It's already Christmas Day over here in Australia so for any US readers, I hope you enjoy when you get here to Christmas future :D

“Whose idea was this?”

Three sets of eyes snapped to the plastic abomination that Dean was holding up. It was a cheap, nasty piece of work – with extraneous dribbles of plastic from where it had been poorly manufactured.

Cas squinted at it. Mary raised an eyebrow. Dean turned to Sam last, who grinned sheepishly and offered a one shoulder shrug.

“Sam.” Dean let his arm fall and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. “Mistletoe? Really? After those pagan gods tried to steal my tooth – and your fingernails?” Cas looked confused. Mary intrigued. “Before I met you.” Dean nodded to Cas, then shifted his attention back to Mary. “Trust me mom – not a great story to tell if we’re planning on having a good Christmas.”

Mary merely shrugged. “Sounds like an interesting case.” She said lightly, coming over to pluck the fake mistletoe from his hand. “Maybe later once you’ve had a bit of eggnog.”

She’s fairly glowing in the fairy lights that have been artlessly draped across the bookshelves – her fair hair creating a soft focus halo as she moves about the room. At least twice Dean has caught himself staring at her, thinking back on fuzzy Christmas memories like an old movie. If the others have noticed they’ve been too kind to say anything. Sam would probably just get all mushy and give him a sappy look anyway. As for Cas – who knows what he thinks? He only came to the bunker for Christmas under threat of much duress from all three of them. He’s been dithering about awkwardly more than actually helping, quietly content to watch them do the bulk of the work unless they specifically ask him to complete a task.

In a not entirely surprising turn of events, none of them are particularly great at Christmas prep. Mary coordinated the decorations with a great amount of taste, but her cooking skills don’t extend much past heating pre-prepared meals, so she had cannily foisted the responsibility off to her eldest. Every time Dean thought about the task before him tomorrow – cooking a whole damn turkey in the bunkers temperamental oven – he had to work hard not to devolve into a full on panic attack. And then there’s Sam and Cas who almost died getting the Christmas tree into the bunker – not only did they nearly get crushed underneath the damn thing, there was also a relatively serious tumble down the main staircase as they brought it in.

But once the tree was decorated, the dollar store angel ornament placed at the very top by a bemused Castiel, and they can finally relax with a beer, the mood began to shift from anxious to chilled. They all settled in to survey their work and Dean flipped through the Christmas albums he found amongst the bunkers record collection. There was a surprisingly decent selection – and hell, some of them are probably super rare and should be in museums or whatever – but Dean figured that Mary might appreciate it more than a laptop blasting modern pop covers.

If her soft smile as he set the needle down and the soft strains of Bing Crosby crooning to them filled the room was anything to go by, he reckoned he might have been bang on the money.

“The last Christmas I remember.” Mary said wistfully, leaning into Sam’s shoulder. “I was pregnant with you. And Dean wasn’t quite four yet.”

“I remember you being pregnant.” Dean offered, slinging his feet up onto the chair next to him. Cas was leaning against the table, surveying the tree quietly. “Maybe not so much at Christmas but definitely right towards the end. He was huge when he was born right?”

“Surprisingly no.” Mary laughed a little. “He was tiny. Just a little over 6 pounds.”

Dean eyed his brother long limbs and shook his head mournfully. “Man. What happened?”

“Maybe it’s because I actually ate my vegetables growing up.” Sam ribbed, before amending. “When they were on offer.”

A playful conversation followed, the record offered a pleasing selection of soft background music to their muted chatter. When the needle lifted, Mary casually got up to flip it over. Dean, who had just returned with a new round of drinks handed out beers as the opening bars of Jingle Bells tinkled out of the speakers. When it suddenly moved into a strong swing beat, Mary cranked the volume, but what she did next was a surprise to everyone.

She started dancing. Not just step tapping, but full on grooving and shaking, clicking and clapping and nodding her head. The boys froze in startled amazement, unsure whether to laugh or not, but then Cas’ face broke into a gummy smile and Mary seemed to take that as an invitation. She put her beer aside, reached out, and grabbed his hands.

Dean couldn’t help himself, he roared with laughter as his mom dragged a startled looking Cas around the room with her. Sam let loose a piercing whistle of encouragement as they linked elbows and spun each way, but he wasn’t laughing when Mary suddenly dropped Cas like a hot potato and dragged Sam to his feet instead.

Dean laughed even harder at the horrified expression on Sam’s face than he had at Cas’ obvious terror. But soon enough Sam was smiling too, swooping his mother up into his arms and spinning her around the room so fast that her toes barely touched the floor. The song was just wrapping up its final few bars when Mary managed to disentangle herself from Sam’s long limbs and turned expectantly to Dean. Having been enjoying the show, he automatically took a step back.

“Oh no.” he protested. “I don’t dance.”

Mary’s face faltered a little, but as the record ticked over to the next song she moved determinedly to her eldest, took his beer from him and then stood their expectantly with her arms open.

“Are you really going to say no to your mom on Christmas?” she chided gently.

And so, hesitantly, he opened up his arms and let her step into them.

They were back to Bing Crosby again – _I’ll Be Home For Christmas_. Fitting, Dean thought as he gently swayed, holding his mom gently against him. Her cheek was pressed to his flannel and her hand was warm in his. Her waist felt tiny against his hand, but she was there and real and it was Christmas and… He didn’t look up at Sam or Cas, just kept his eyes downcast, sometimes letting them flutter closed. He may have sung along to a few lines as well. Hell, he wasn’t a singer and he didn’t like Christmas or carols but this was _nice_ and Winchester’s never usually got anything nice without a side of crap.

When the song finished and Mary gently pulled back from his embrace Dean pretended not to notice the soft expression of Cas’ face, or Sam’s overly bright eyes.

“That was lovely.” Mary said quietly. Reaching both hands up, she cupped Dean’s cheeks and gave him a soft smile. “Thank you sweetheart.”

Dean tried to return the smile, he really did, but instead he found himself ducking his head to hide the tears that were threatening to spring up in his eyes.

“Merry Christmas mom.”

“So!” Mary said brightly, turning and clapping her hands at the other two. Dean took the opportunity to swipe surreptitiously at his eyes. “What next? Charades? Darts? Bad Christmas movies?” A sly smile spread across her face as she retrieved the crappy plastic mistletoe from where it had been abandoned on the table and held it up. “Or do we hang this up somewhere and see who is the first to get kissed?”

Once again, Dean and Sam moved quickly out of range, so Castiel copped the brunt of Mary’s infectious good cheer. Slinging an arm around his shoulders so she could dangle the offending foliage above his head, she leant in and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

In an attempt to save face from his earlier bout of sentimentality, Dean snatched the mistletoe back from Mary and planted a kiss on her cheek in response before shooting a look at his brother. A challenge. Sam retaliated by grabbing at the mistletoe, but when Dean refused to let it go, came to a swift compromise. Cas, who had slipped out of Mary’s grasp, brought his cell phone up and snapped a slightly blurry photo – Mary laughing, and her two boys pressing identical kisses to her cheeks.

They did indeed play darts, and cards (Mary beat the pants off them). Cas won charades, much to everyone’s surprise – including his own. And they topped off the night with _Die Hard._ The only contemporary Christmas movie Dean would deign to introduce his mother to.

All in all. Not a bad Christmas at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Gotta love a bit of fluffy holiday nonsense. Thanks for reading and if you liked it (or hated it or whatever) please feel free to let me know. I'd love to get a comment or two to tide me over while I dive headfirst into thesis writing after Christmas :P


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